Ominous.
The temperature changes.
A quick thunderstorm arises in the desert.
Familiar.
In the moment.
I’ve been here before and there’s a score to settle.
Rocky.
I can’t conceive it.
The road is endless while it lasts.
Desolate.
The land is empty.
Only ruins and ghosts are in this place.
Poem by Jason S. Sullivan, 06-27-20
Photo by Daniel Gorostieta, www.pexels.com
